


The Stars Are Burning Out

by 0justlisten0



Series: The Stars and The Sun [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, But kind of, Gryles, I was happy when I started this, I'm Sorry, M/M, Stymshaw - Freeform, and then it all went to hell, i don't know why, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0justlisten0/pseuds/0justlisten0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> He’s looking at old Twitter photos and snarky text messages and he’s starting to get this panicked feeling in the pit of his stomach, soft flutters of tiny butterfly wings beating around his insides. The lads notice and ask him what’s wrong, but Harry realizes that everything is finally </i>right<i>.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars Are Burning Out

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I’m not completely certain about this.~~ I was sort of optimistic when I began this and then… I don’t know. The title is from Maroon 5’s song “Daylight”. This was… sort-of inspired by the following verse from Muse’s “I Belong to You”:
> 
>  
> 
> _I can’t find the words to say_  
>  _They’re overdue_  
>  _I’ve travelled half the world to say_  
>  _I belong to you_
> 
> Also, I made a [shiny](http://sugarspiceandpurespite.tumblr.com/) new tumblr.

_”You can’t expect me to wait forever, love. I won’t; I’ve too much self-respect for that, oddly enough.”_

Harry replays the voice message for the tenth time, Nick’s wry tone echoing in his head. _What did you expect?_ the small voice in the back of his mind mocks. _You knew this was going to happen. You knew he wouldn’t put up with you and your shit forever. You knew you would lose him._

He switches to his address book and scrolls down the names, stopping as he arrives at Nick’s. His thumb hesitates over the call button, his heart pounding in his chest. _Just do it_ , he thinks. _Call him. Tell him he doesn’t need to wait because you’re his already. Tell him he’s all you think about. Tell him you lo—_

He doesn’t call.

*

It’s three days after Nick’s last call and Harry hasn’t erased the voicemail. He’s listened to it over again and again, taking in the softly-spoken words, the slight bitterness in the endearment. He scrolls through his contacts once more.

He doesn’t call.

Nick doesn’t either.

*

It’s a week after and they’re back in England. He still hasn’t called, but he wakes up early to listen to the show (and to hear his voice). Nick plays their song as he signs off.

*

Two weeks have passed; nothing has changed.

Nick still plays their song at the end of his show.

Harry is still hesitating over the call button.

*

It’s nearly four months after and Harry can’t breathe. He’s looking at old Twitter photos and snarky text messages and he’s starting to get this panicked feeling in the pit of his stomach, soft flutters of tiny butterfly wings beating around his insides. The lads notice and ask him what’s wrong, but Harry realizes that everything is finally _right_.

They’re in New York now; they have two radio interviews tomorrow night and a TV appearance the morning after. He knows he’s going to get calls from a calm-but-angered Simon and furious management for doing this, but he can’t bring himself to care. The boys help him pack, smugness coming off them in waves, their smirks lifting his mood even higher.

He boards a plane to London ninety minutes later.

*

The ride to Primrose Hill from the airport is grueling, but they finally make it there and Harry rushes out of the car, toting his duffel and tossing too much money to the driver, hurrying up the drive to the door he has been in front of so many times before. He knocks rapidly, his heart beating a matching staccato rhythm as he waits.

“Fuck’s sake, I’m coming already!” Harry hears him mutter as the door swings open and _there he is_ , all messy hair and wrinkled pajama bottoms and half-lidded eyes. “Harry?” Nick cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here? I thought you were… well, I don’t know where you were, but I’m almost certain you aren’t supposed to be _here_ ,” he says, gesturing vaguely.

Harry takes a deep breath and blurts out, “I know I should have said this a long time ago, but I just… I couldn’t and I’m sorry if that—if it hurt you because I never wanted you to be hurt, but I think you were and I’m so sorry it took me so long to realize it—” He blinks a few times, banishing the wetness in his eyes. “I love you,” he chokes out. “So fucking much and I—”

“Grimmy?” Two wiry arms wind around Nick’s waist from behind, a head popping up over his shoulder. “Are you coming back to bed or what?”

Harry’s chest tightens and his throat closes as Nick whispers a soft “yes” and urges the man back into the house. Harry watches, dazed. The older man turns back to him, his face filled with sadness and pain, and murmurs, “I told you I couldn’t—wouldn’t—wait forever, Harry. You just… You took so long and I deserve to be happy too, don’t I?”

Harry doesn’t know how long he stands there, his heart shattered and tears streaming down his face, after the door closes quietly behind the man he had just realized he loved.

*

He goes home—to his mum, not his new place—when it begins to rain. He goes on the Internet and, because he’s a masochist, searches for recordings of Nick’s last few shows, trying to find exactly when things had changed—when it had become too late.

Nick had stopped playing their song three days ago.


End file.
